Zanaikeyros - Son of Dragons (Pantheon of Dragons #1)(21)
Drakkar closed his eyes and counted backward from ten to one.
Yes, yes, yes…
Demons could turn themselves into nasty, lethal beetles, and the beetles could act as transmitters, recording and projecting all they saw and heard in telepathic waves that broadcast throughout the underworld, thus, acting as supernatural beacons of a sort. As the singular high lord and king of the entire pagan realm, Drakkar understood the nuances quite freakin’ clearly. So then what the hell did the beetle transmit?
Before he could dress his counselor down, Killian assuaged his anger with a pair of pertinent facts. “In a nutshell, one of the dragyri was a Genesis Son, and earlier this evening, he met his dragyra.”
Now this caught the king’s full attention. “Which one? The male?”
“Lord Saphyrius’ progeny.”
“Zanaikeyros?”
“One in the same.”
“Excellent. Excellent.” He narrowed his gaze on Killian, studying his dark hawkish eyes, his thin, reedy lips, and his translucent, skeletal features—the shadow needed to feed. “Please tell me that you have done some modest research, that my congress has done some basic exploration, and you are up to speed with all the facts.”
At this, Killian smiled: dark, sinister, and wily. “Indeed, my liege. I would not approach you with the information otherwise.” He brushed a thick lock of his long, white, baby-fine hair out of his eyes and bowed his head, infinitesimally. “The female’s name is Jordan Anderson—the beetle pulled it out of the dragyri’s mind—she is a prosecuting attorney in the Denver DA’s office, but that is not the most intriguing tidbit.”
The king leaned forward in his throne. “Go on.”
“We did our own little investigation, which led to the Two Forks Mall and their internal security cameras, and it would appear that Jordan has a close friend named Macy Wilson, who is scheduled for abdominal surgery on Monday with one Doctor Kyle Parker at Denver Exploratory Medical Center.”
Drakkar licked his lips—the possibilities were just too delectable. “Ah,” he commented, laughing as he made a thoughtful tent with his hands. As king of the pagans, he knew all his subjects intimately: their comings and their goings; their rapes and their kills; their twisted, demented souls; their every dark, malicious thought. Their very lives streamed into his mind like endless loops of video, audio, and sonar, even when he slept.
And this meant he was aware of many aberrant humans as well.
After all, there were only two kinds of pagans: demons and shadows—also known as shadow-walkers or shades—and Drakkar was equal parts of both. The former, demons, were considered sin eaters because they thrived and fed on human sins: pride, envy, lust, and the like. And the latter, shadow-walkers, were often known as soul eaters because they thrived and fed on human souls. It didn’t matter if the souls were good, neutral, or evil—as long as they were sentient, the shadows grew stronger by ingesting their anima. The essence was all they needed. But the demons? No, their appetites were a bit trickier. They had to catch sinners in the commission of sins and feed on the base depravity in order to survive. Dr. Kyle Parker was hungry for power and promotion, for national recognition in his field, and that hunger had grown beyond wanting, desire, and ambition into something altogether malevolent. He would lie, cheat, or steal for a golden opportunity, and that had caught the attention of a powerful, ancient demon by the name of Salem Thorne. To put it succinctly, Salem had been feeding from Dr. Kyle and bolstering his power-lust for months.
And that meant Dr. Kyle was already under the demon’s influence. He could be manipulated by the pagans and used to their nefarious ends.
“Where is Salem this night?” Drakkar asked, assuming Killian could follow along. The pagan was annoying, not stupid—he was counselor for a reason.
“He’s resting in his chambers,” Killian replied, referring to one of the castle’s upper five floors, and the demons’ residential wing.
Drakkar nodded. “And I assume, after all these centuries, he is eager to rise up in our ranks. He would have no objection to sharing his prey: We want Dr. Parker to get closer to Macy; we want Macy to keep in close contact with Jordan; and of course, we want nothing more than to use these relationships for our own delicious gain. Assume for a moment that Salem could reduce his essence into just one beetle—I believe he is ancient enough to do so—and our ambitious Dr. Parker could transfer that beetle to Macy…
“All our illustrious demon would have to do is enter Jordan’s purse, travel with the dragyra through the portal, and voila—just like that—we have an inside agent in Dragons Domain.” He slowly licked his lips. “Now multiply that by twenty—say, twenty ancient demons, all in singular beetle form, waiting like a Trojan horse, nestled inside a birthday present or a box of Valentine’s chocolates—perhaps a housewarming gift—whatever the hell a human dragyra enjoys—we could conceivably usher an army of prehistoric pagans into the foreign realm. We could strike at the Genesis Sons as they sleep, in their own protected beds.” His voice turned devilish and cold. “I have waited a thousand years to get my claws on an original son, to destroy a beloved Genesis. Would it be a major sacrifice to send our oldest and our best? Of course, but the ruin would be worth the risk.” His eyes rolled back in his head as if he were enraptured in ecstasy. “Yes, my dear, esteemed counselor: Dr. Parker may very well be the opportunity we have been waiting for, if he can solidify a relationship with Jordan’s best friend, and the latter can lead to Zanaikeyros. Lord Saphyrius’ last living hatchling would be an unimaginable prize.”